


A Cure for the Common Psychosis

by Annawry



Series: Variations on a Theme [1]
Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Banter, D'Avin's Magic Dick, Dark, Fuck Or Die, Hullen!Johnny doesn't want the cure, M/M, Season/Series 04, Sibling Incest, Truly inappropriate banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 10:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annawry/pseuds/Annawry
Summary: “You have got to give up on saving me.” Johnny scoffs with a grin that's more teeth than lips, tracking with predatory alertness as D’Avin steps inside the room.“Yeah. Not going to happen.”There must be something in his expression or tone of voice because Johnny cocks his head to one side, examining D’Avin, before his eyes widen with something like fear in them. It’s gone just as fast, Johnny smacking his head back into the wall and laughing.“What if it was the only way?” He says like he’s quoting something, quoting himself, too clever by half.





	A Cure for the Common Psychosis

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a long time since I watched Killjoys, I’ve forgotten a lot about the preceding seasons, and only got about 4 minutes into episode 4x04 before. Welp. Please forgive any canonical inconsistencies or errors. The need to write overrode the need to do pretty much anything else, including actually watch the rest of the episode.

Everything is just fucking _peachy_.

D’Avin has a headache, pounding along inside his skull to the same rhythm as Johnny cracking his against the wall. He can’t help Dutch. He’s been banned from the birth. He doesn’t even know where to begin with the goddamn vanished armada. And on the other side of the locked door he’s staring at his brother is rapidly running out of time. Johnny is the only thing he can maybe fix, he just has to... D’Avin braces his hands against the door, bends over and feels sick with the uncomfortable mix of terror and determination churning in his gut.

Fuck Johnny for bringing it up on that shithole planet, anyway, and fuck him for being so observant in the first place. Whatever tattered illusions D’Avin had about his ability to keep his own shit contained are blown apart now, not that he had much in the way of illusions left to begin with. He’d thought, though, he’d thought he’d done so well keeping this to himself, the way he sometimes looks at Johnny and wants to sink to his knees or press Johnny up against a wall and keep him there, shielded and safe and close. Fleeting moments where the closeness he wants flicks over to wanting to be _close_ , like buried inside close, cock and tongue and heart.

He was never, ever going to do anything about it. Not to Johnny, not having scrapped and barbed their way back to really being brothers, not when Johnny trusts him. Except Johnny knew anyway, and D’Avin is all run out of better options. He’s not going to sit back and wait to see what happens, pretending he’s powerless.

“Lucy, don’t.” D’Avin starts and has to clear his throat before he can continue. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”

“What are you going to do?” she asks curiously instead of acknowledging the command, and that is so entirely Johnny’s influence that D’Avin can’t help but pat her fondly.

“I’m going to cure Johnny.” He says with more confidence than he feels, and palms open the door.

Johnny’s fever bright eyes immediately fix on him, pupils blown wide and face grimy with blood. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the floor. “You have _got_ to give up on saving me.” He scoffs with a grin that’s more teeth than lips, tracking with predatory alertness as D’Avin steps inside the room.

“Yeah. Not going to happen.”

There must be something in his expression or tone of voice because Johnny cocks his head to one side, examining D’Avin, before his eyes widen with something like fear in them. It’s gone just as fast, Johnny smacking his head back into the wall and laughing.

“ _What if it was the only way?_ ” He says like he’s quoting something, quoting himself, too clever by half.

D’Avin squares his shoulders with a shrug and offers a tight grin, yanking his belt out of its loops and dropping it to the side. “You’re the one that suggested it.”

“Sure, and you waited... What? A day? Day and a half? You must have _really_ exhausted every other option.”

“Yup,” he agrees idly, mostly ignoring the taunt in favour of figuring out how to approach without taking a boot to the junk, “Wore them all out.”

Getting in close before Johnny had figured out what he was about would have been better, but this was always going to be a fight at some point. D’Avin just needs to make sure it’s a fight he wins. He expects the foot Johnny lashes out, but not the way Johnny twists his hips to sweep his other leg at the same time, bringing D’Avin crashing to the floor. Its sheer luck that he anticipates the first leg following him down and catches it before Johnny can crack his heel into, yup, that was aimed right at D’Avin’s dick. He pulls hard on the leg in his hands and Johnny slides on his arse until the collar is digging into the soft underside of his chin, no slack between him and his anchor in the wall. Keeping Johnny pinned is the real struggle, waiting out the oxygen deprivation that Johnny’s determined to ignore in favour of lashing out. He gets in a few blows and, wow, D’Avin’s really going to feel those later. The sharp ache in his side is definitely a cracked rib or two. He grits his teeth and rides out the increasingly sluggish strikes until Johnny’s sagged against the floor, and then waits a few more seconds just to make sure that Johnny isn’t faking before he pushes them both towards the wall so the collar goes slack.

That could have gone better. It could have gone a lot worse, too.

D’Avin rolls off Johnny and just lies on the floor on his back for a moment, pressing a hand against his ribs, trying to catch his breath. There’s no telling how fast Johnny will recover, though. D’Avin pushes himself upright with a pained whine, undoes Johnny’s pants, and yanks everything down around his thighs—low enough to let D’Avin get between them, high enough to restrict Johnny’s movement—before he pushes Johnny over on to his belly to trap his bound hands beneath him. D’Avin has no idea how this even works, not really. Sabine was an accident, he’d just, he’d wanted her so much, but he doesn’t know if that was the key. If Johnny needs to be conscious, if he needs to come, if he needs to be _willing_. And Johnny won’t be. He wants the green, not a cure; he’s going to fight D’Avin every step. D’Avin can’t let that stop him, though. It’s this or nothing, sit on his hands and wait for a miracle, and waiting has never been his strong suit. He fumbles the tube of lubrication he brought out of his pocket and awkwardly shoves down his own pants one handed, grimacing at his flaccid cock.

It’s a small, strange mercy that this hasn’t gotten him hard.

Johnny chooses that moment to groan and stir, and D’Avin can’t waste any more time staring at his own dick, contemplating what he’s about to do. He shoves himself between Johnny’s legs, spreading them as wide as the pants around Johnny’s thighs will let him, and braces his weight with a hand on Johnny’s neck. “Have a nice nap?” he asks and feels Johnny abruptly come awake beneath him, tense and stiff.

“Oh, yeah, it was great. Really. Very refreshing.”

“Yeah? If you liked that, you’re going to love this next part.”

“Can’t wait.” Johnny drawls, artificially relaxing and no way is D’Avin falling for that. “Though I gotta say, I kinda missed the part where we had drinks and, oh! Where I said yes.”

He’s prepared when Johnny bucks, testing his position, and rides it out. Johnny might have Hullen strength, but D’Avin has leverage and weight. “I don’t remember saying you could shoot me in the back, either,” he grunts, “And yet here we are.”

“You’re not still sore about that, are you?” Johnny’s panting when he finally subsides, and the ache in D’Avin’s ribs is making itself known all over again in bright, sparking new ways. “You really need to stop holding on to these things, D’Av. It’s bad for your skin.”

D’Avin drops his forehead between Johnny’s shoulders and waits for Johnny’s next attempt. “You must be holding some serious grudges then. Are those... are those wrinkles? Those are definitely wrinkles.”

His sass is rewarded by Johnny’s scoffing laugh. There’s something left of his baby brother under all that Hullen psychosis; Johnny always did kind of like it when D’Avin scored a point though he’d never admit it. He doesn’t trust the way Johnny seems to have settled beneath him, but he might not get a better chance than now, so D’Avin pops the lid open on the lube one-handed. He can’t afford to keep a hand free long enough to slick himself or Johnny up properly. Squeezing a truly excessive amount of it between Johnny’s arse cheeks is the next best thing.

“Ah, _fuck_!” Johnny hisses, “You couldn’t have warmed it first?”

“It’ll warm up fast enough, princess.” D’Avin assures him, but it’s slick and cold when he presses his still limp dick into the mess and braces, not for a fight but for the way Johnny bursts into laughter.

“Got a little problem there?” He asks with undisguised glee.

“Won’t be so little in a minute.” D’Avin promises, but for the first time realizes this might actually _be_ a problem. He’s not feeling it and on the one hand that’s great, that says very reassuring things about his psyche. On the other, there’s no cure for Johnny if he can’t get it up. He shifts his weight and grinds into the space between Johnny’s legs, hoping the friction will do something for him, and Johnny doesn’t bother to stifle his snickers.

“You know, I never could figure out why you couldn’t keep a girl. I mean, big, handsome, dumb as a piece of space junk. What’s not to love, right? But this? This explains a lot.”

“Oh, no, this is all you.” D’Avin shoots back, “Guess you’re just special.”

“Aw, come on, you want me, admit it. Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at my arse all those times. Though who could blame you, it is pretty sweet.”

“Be even sweeter when it’s split open on my dick.” And oh, okay, yeah. D’Avin’s dick twitches, and he can feel that first spark of arousal, a tight pull in his groin. Johnny must feel it too, because he bucks again, a token attempt at fighting.

D’Avin presses his mouth to the knot of bone at the base of Johnny’s spine and exhales a hot breath, gratified at the small shiver the runs through Johnny. He’s always had a sensitive neck, and D’Avin is not above exploiting his knowledge. “I try not to think about it, you know,” he admits, mouth shaping the words against Johnny’s skin, “But fuck, Johnny, when you’re all lit up like a star, being brilliant, being so fucking clever and smug. You have no idea what it does to me. I never know if I want to get on my knees or put you on yours.”

“You’ve always had a thing for the smart ones.”

“Yeah. And they don’t come much smarter than you.”

“Aww, I’m flattered.” Johnny coos insincerely. “Still not interested though.”

Maybe confession is good for more than just the soul. D’Avin’s dick is finally getting with the plan, swelling up in the crease between Johnny’s cheeks. He’s smearing the lube around, but he’s going to have to use a hand to get himself inside Johnny, and he’s going to have to time that right.

“Why’d you bring up Sabine, Johnny?” he murmurs. “Why remind me of her at all?”

He’s hit a nerve, just like he was hoping. Even Johnny’s breathing sounds irritated. “Distraction, obviously. Worked like a charm, too.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. You could have distracted me with a million others things. I think you wanted to remind me. I think you wanted to make sure I’d remember, so no matter what I’d keep my promise. I said I’d cure the shit out of you, and some part of you made sure I would.”

He’s ready when Johnny howls furiously and struggles beneath him, a man possessed, no like about it. “You want it, Johnny.” He grunts whatever winded taunts he can manage, riling Johnny up. “Too fucking smart not to know what you were doing. You want me to fuck the green right out of you, don’t you.” D’Avin holds on and holds him down until Johnny’s exhausted. He doesn’t wait this time, not willing to risk his chance, just grabs his cock and shoves it unceremoniously at Johnny’s arsehole and in. Johnny’s howl takes on a distinctly pained toned.

“Fuck you. Fuck you.” He spits, voice gone raspy. “It’s not even going to work. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Sure,” D’Avin manages to agree around the ache in his throat. Johnny is clenched uncooperatively tight and this is going to hurt him and D’Avin really, really hates it when he has to do that. “That’s why you’re fighting so hard, right?”

Johnny’s laugh sounds strained and mocking. “Someone really needs to teach you to take no for an answer.”

D’Avin sets his jaw and pushes in harder, forcing Johnny to take him, and tries to ignore the way Johnny cries out. “We can work on that when you’re you again. While we’re at it, we can work on you asking for help when you need it.”

“Your help is what did this, assho-Ah! _Fuck_.” Johnny’s feet scrabble for purchase on either side of D’Avin’s legs; breath sounding punched out of him with D’Avin’s first proper thrust.

“I thought we’d covered this already?” he pants, “I wasn’t going to let you die down there, Johnny. Not on some shitty, organ-farming, prison rock.” It’s a tricky balance, keeping enough of his weight on Johnny to pin him, keep his hands trapped, and still get the leverage he needs to fuck him. He’s sharply aware this could still go to hell with just the wrong movement. “Not going to lose you to this either. I can’t, you’re my _brother_ , I _can’t_ -”

There’s no snappy come backs. Johnny’s shivering beneath him, making wet, hurt sounds and D’Avin feels like his chest is being crushed. He’s not going to forgive himself for this. Even if it works, even if Johnny does, D’Avin’s pretty sure he’s never going to. He can’t unlearn this about himself, what lines he’ll cross, and there’s a quiet sort of horror making itself at home in the back of his head.

“Johnny please, please. You gotta help me,” he finally begs, desperate and unashamed of it. He’s not going to be able to come. He’s not even sure how long he’s going to be able to keep his erection. He can’t have done this to them only to fail. “You gotta fight it. Please, Johnny, come on. I love you, okay. So damn much. You gotta help me out here.”

He’s so focused on Johnny that he notices the second Johnny's shivering changes and he starts shaking instead. The same small convulsive tremors that had scared the crap out of D’Avin with Sabine, when he had no idea what she was or what he was or what he’d done. But he still feels kind of paralysed with disbelief and it isn’t until a small green pools starts spilling out from under Johnny’s head that he can make himself move and pull carefully out of Johnny’s shuddering body.

“Shit, shit, Johnny. You’re okay, you’re okay.” He mutters, pulling Johnny up so he can cradle him, not giving a shit for the way the green runs down his chest and arms, blood warm and wet. It’s running out of Johnny, that’s all that matters. It worked and D’Avin can’t stop shaking, rocking them back and forth on the cold floor of the cargo bay, not even sure who he’s trying to comfort.

In a minute he’s going to have to get up. He’s going to have to clean them up and untie Johnny and take him to Zeph and figure out what the hell to tell the others.

Right now all he can do is hold on.


End file.
